Her Black Knight
by Gila Draper
Summary: Rosmerta ponders a lost love, and it's not who you might expect.


Author's Note: First of all, none of these characters belong to me. Never have, never will. I'm a big Snape fan but this story just had to be written, so I hope you enjoy.  
  
Her Black Knight  
  
Glittering red heels clicked smartly on the floor of the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta recited the mantra in her head, one Cognac, one Vodka, and one shot of Tequila. Her hands with their carefully manicured fingernails reached for the specified bottles behind her private fortress, the bar. As the chatter of the exited pub –crawlers filtered in one ear and out the other she reached for the neck of the Vodka bottle with the ease of long practice. Not long enough practice though, for it slipped from her fingers to crash, spraying liberal amounts of glass and liquor across the floor.  
  
"Merlin bless it," she swore, using several bits of colorful language as she cleared the site with a flick of her wand hand.  
  
Third ruddy bottle today. Damn. She'd have to go get another quickly because it's requester was an impatient bastard. Wiping her hands on her velvet robes she turned to her cellars, retreating into the darkness. She went farther through the wooden door lentils by the light of the torches along the hallway.  
  
The walls were personalized with bits of parchment tacked here and there as well as photos. There was one of her receiving an award from the minister several years ago, for best kept bar. In it she waved energetically. There were several others of her at the Auror's Convention with Arabella Figg and Alastor Moody, the trio waving energetically. But then, before the door leading to her wine cellar there was one picture which made her pause. It was her, seventeen years old in the arms of a handsome young Hogwarts Head Boy. A chill ran down her back and a flood of memories was suddenly rehashed…  
  
  
  
They had so been in love from that first year at Hogwarts, she, the daughter of a prominent bartender, he, an orphaned Muggleborn. But despite the odds they fell in love. Truly, deeply. He was brilliant, charming, and good -looking. He brought the best in her. Everyone saw it, they were a little jealous of course, but made due with good -natured teasing.  
  
"Rosie and her little Snake."  
  
"I thought snakes ate ravens, didn't kiss them."  
  
"Last time I go into a broom shed without knocking first, honestly, could you two snog any harder?"  
  
He didn't mind it, and neither did she. It was true enough, while Ravenclaws and Slytherins were both the most intellectual of the Houses, not many ran in the same crowds.  
  
The teachers didn't mind of course. They loved him.  
  
"Oh he's brilliant!"  
  
"Gets top marks in my class."  
  
"Did you hear his theory on the Vampire Coalition of 1579?! INCREDIBLE!"  
  
But he certainly wasn't an academic geek. Not a swotty little nerd at all. Tall, dark, and handsome was her boy. He had intense dark eyes and dark hair and was a popular Quidditch Beater, and a hero to boot.  
  
Her friend Molly Cowan wasn't envious, for she had her boyfriend Arthur Weasly, but she took great delight in gathering with Rosmerta to giggle about her beau after Charms.  
  
"Did you SEE that look he gave you after Quidditch practice Rosie? Absolutely smoldering! You always were lucky to get one of those seductive Slytherins." She sighed longingly, " Don't get me wrong, I love Arthur, but I don't find Gryffindor bravery quite as sexy."  
  
She was utterly positive they'd get married after school. She loved him and he loved her, she was so sure he was her soul mate.  
  
She wormed her way under his arm and wrapped her arms about his waist, fingering his Head Boy badge. "You know, being Head Boy looks terrific on a transcript love. I'm sure you'll get into the ministry, after we get married of course."  
  
She laughed as sweet tinkling laugh, not noticing the look of disgust and alarm that registered on his face. But it disappeared as quickly as it came…  
  
But that cushy honeymoon never came because after graduation he disappeared. She was so sure he'd come back for her, he'd promised. But the years came and passed and she never heard from him. Not so much as even one letter via owl post.  
  
Somehow she still expected him to come back for her, not riding on a white horse, that wasn't his way of things.  
  
She sighed and reached down for the bottle of Vodka, tearing her eyes away from the photo. She walked back and began to pour the drink.  
  
"Where's my drink wench?!" A caustic voice demanded.  
  
"One MOMENT, Mr.McNair," her voice carried a biting edge.  
  
She hoped that someday he'd come back for her, sneaking under the widow of her bedroom to take her away from all of this, the obnoxious drunks, the crude ladies' men… And he would gather her away and they would elope.  
  
She gave a mental snort. Such fantasies were ridiculous, especially for her man. Because she had known him a long time and she knew that soppy romantic gestures such as that were unheard of to Tom Marvelo Riddle. 


End file.
